Manic Street Preachers confound the cynics in Leeds as they revisit Everything Must Go

He was open about the fact that they’d been offered plenty of money to do so, yet clearly seemed reticent, not least because the idea of a trip down memory lane seemed to run counter to what the band, even in 2014, still stood for. They’d released two new LPs in the space of a year, both of which - Futurology especially - were markedly forward-thinking. The Manics were no longer as popular as during their Nineties heyday, nor as politically vital, but to accuse them of trading on past glories would’ve been grossly unfair.

Wire’s reluctance to rule out playing The Holy Bible in full, though, seemed to suggest that it was always on the cards, and it was probably one of those rare full-album tours that actually made sense. That particular record occupies an important place in British musical history, and no mainstream rock band - certainly since, and possibly before - has ever turned out such an unremittingly bleak piece of work. The album’s lyrics stand as a public record of Richey Edwards’ drastically deteriorating mental health, but there was nothing sensationalist or exploitative about revisiting the album, not least because many of the political themes on it are as pertinent now as they ever have been. If eyebrows were raised to that effect, just as they were when the band mined unused Edwards words on 2009’s Journal for Plague Lovers, the success of the shows and the reverence with which the album was treated meant that the cynics were put in their place. You got the impression that the band had always had an uneasy relationship with The Holy Bible - songs from the album didn’t often pop up on setlists after the initial tour for it was over - and it did feel as if they’d perhaps laid some personal demons to rest by going back and facing it head on.

None of that logic really applies to Everything Must Go, the 1996 follow-up that itself turns twenty this year. Booking a tour playing that album in full, in arenas no less, seems much more in line with the typical cash-grab nostalgia trips than The Holy Bible shows ever did. After all, it was Everything Must Go that had them at the peak of their commercial powers, going triple platinum in the UK, and setting them off down a path that had them playing arenas and stadiums and eventually, when This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours followed a couple of years later, seeing them land a number one single here, too. It’s also far more closely tied to Britpop in the popular imagination than anything else they ever did. Given that they seemed so uncomfortable with the concept of playing The Holy Bible in full, the decision to then take their biggest album to the biggest possible rooms seems like a bit of an about turn.

And yet, on tonight’s evidence (20 May), you can’t help but feel they’ve confounded the critics again. You’d expect this tour - this offer to the people, of their most popular album start-to-finish - to attract the biggest possible crowds they could pull in these days, and you’d also maybe suspect that the near-capacity crowd at Leeds’ new First Direct Arena would be fleshed out by casual fans, those looking forward to roaring along with “A Design for Life” but perhaps tuning out during the deeper cuts. That doesn’t happen. The vast majority of this particular audience seems genuinely attached to Everything Must Go, and hearing it played with such ferocity and pointedness - James Dean Bradfield remains a force of nature - brings home the fact that, while not in the same territory as The Holy Bible, it had a fair few politically-charged songs of its own, from the disillusionment of “Elvis Impersonator: Blackpool Pier” to the gut-punch of “Kevin Carter”. Nicky Wire’s talked about how “timid” the band were lyrically on this record, reeling as they were from the loss of Edwards, but twenty years later, some of these tracks sound - by way of comparison to what we’re fed by the mainstream these days - vital, incisive, important.

A second set that encompasses hits from other records follows Everything Must Go after a lightning-quick five minute changeover, with Wire changing costume at the sort of speed that teenyboppers half his age would be proud of. As has so often been the case at Manics gigs - with the obvious exception of those shows in 2014 and 2015 - there’s nothing from The Holy Bible. Instead, we remain in anthemic territory, sensible given the surroundings; “Your Love Alone Is Not Enough” always sounds flat without Nina Persson’s turn from the recorded version, but “Motorcycle Emptiness” belies its twenty-five years with a riff that still soars, and the response to “You Love Us” is typically raucous. “If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next” provides the big finish with classic arena bombast - streamers, ticker tape and all the rest - but listen to the words as Bradfield roars through them and there’s a beautiful bewilderment that sets in, watching this big rock band, in a big rock venue, playing a fists-in-the-air number one hit single that’s about the Spanish Civil War and left-wing idealism. Manic Street Preachers, and their success story, is one of rock’s great anomalies, and there’s a reason they’re still here - the messages they were transmitting two decades ago remain relevant. Not all nostalgia trips are dewy-eyed. This one’s full of heart.